I left the garden without haste.
The mansion stretched behind me, black stone and silver veins humming faintly with Arcanum Vitae. Servants passed, bowing as they glided by. I did not see them. They existed only as part of the world, nothing more.
I entered the Kutsche a luxurious, closed wagon reserved for nobility, its black lacquer reflecting faint pulses of light from the city below. My most loyal butler, Valerius, stepped in behind me, silent, eyes fixed on the floor, fingers brushing the edges of the carriage as though steadying the very threads of reality. I did not acknowledge him. He existed to move, anticipate, and bear the tension that never touched me.
Outside, the mounts waited: gargoyles from another dimension, their wings etched with strange runes that hummed faintly as they flexed against the sky. They leapt into the air, carrying the Kutsche effortlessly, suspended by resonance.
The city stretched beneath us like veins. Floating islands drifted in ordered chaos, tethered by invisible threads of light. Bridges spanned the gaps, carrying trade, whispers, and subtle schemes. Streets of commoners twisted below, oblivious to the forces tugging at them, their lives small sparks against the dark weave of power.
The Prime Seers occupied their towers, enforcers of order, bound to the Primarch alone. They believed themselves untouchable, blind to the currents that someone like him could see.
The great houses hovered like predators. House Aterna's silver towers shimmered faintly, manipulating time in subtle currents. House Flux's sharp edges hummed with restrained energy. Others drifted quietly, waiting, watching, plotting.
I did not care for politics. I observed.
A tremor pulsed faintly through the air. Resonance. One of the city's rare awakened souls had overstepped its bounds. Energy flared from a lower district, violent and uncontrolled. A commoner had touched a latent path. Fragile. Reckless. Dangerous.
Valerius stiffened behind me. His tension was small, contained, like a ripple in still water, but it existed.
Below, sparks of Arcanum Vitae leapt from rooftops and streets. Flying mounts panicked, their riders flung by invisible currents.
Then the Prime Seers arrived.
A trio descended like storm clouds, cloaked in authority, moving with practiced precision. Threads of power weaved around them, moderate yet sufficient to contain the uncontrolled awakening. One grasped the energy, bending it; another stabilized it; the third struck, snapping the path closed. The surge dimmed.
The crowd below noticed. The great houses did not intervene. Only the city trembled faintly, as if sighing under the weight of its own suffering.
Valerius exhaled softly behind me, tension released in tiny increments. I did not respond. Observation was enough.
The Kutsche glided forward. Bridges drifted beneath us, connecting floating islands of commerce, law, and intrigue. Markets bustled, oblivious. Traders argued over prices, unaware that a single surge could topple the structures around them.
Master, Valerius said softly, voice measured, careful. "House Flux expects your presence tonight. The Ascendant has convened a meeting regarding the upcoming Primarch election."
I did not turn. And?
It is… important, he said. They expect guidance. Decisions must be made regarding alliances, influence, and"
"Decisions are theirs," I interrupted. "Not mine."
He inclined his head, unoffended. "Very well, Master. Yet… your absence may itself send a message. The Ascendant your aunt has already begun negotiations with House Aterna."
I exhaled faintly. The air smelled of stone, and distant fire. I did not care.
Let them send messages. Let them measure threads. Let them tremble or rejoice as they please. I am above it.
The Kutsche rose higher, drifting above bridges and markets, over islands where ambition intersected with commerce, whispers floating in the currents of the unseen. Below, the city stirred, fragile, alive, and quietly suffering.
Valerius's fingers brushed a silver edge of the carriage, subtle, almost invisible. He bore the tension, the anticipation, the hidden suffering of a city that could not see the forces controlling it. And I allowed it.
The city stretched beneath us. The great houses maneuvered. The Prime Seers contained what they could. And I, indifferent, eternal, observed, waiting for the moment when flesh could no longer restrain the mind and the world below would finally feel the weight of what it could not see.
(Valerius thoughts)●
He did not speak of it. He never spoke of it. Not the Sinevians, not the Ascendants, not the rare few who had ever approached the edge of transcendence. I had grown up with him, served him since childhood, yet I knew only fragments, and whispers of tales meant to frighten or impress.
A Sinevian, I had been told, could forge their own path. They were the exception. Only three in history, perhaps four if one counted the first, the Transcended. They skipped stages others labored to achieve. Masters, Ascendants, Prime Seers they all climbed the ladder, each step earned over decades or centuries. He had not.
And yet here he was, flawless, terrifying, calm. The city bent beneath his gaze, and the threads of power, invisible to me, trembled in his presence.
He did not need to act. He did not intervene. He simply existed, and the world moved differently because of it.
Every great house, every Prime Seer, every minor path-holder all were bound by rules, by laws, by ambition, by fear. Yet he he was beyond it.
I had heard the tale once, from an old chronicler who dared approach him as a child. They said his body could not bear the full weight of enlightenment. That his very existence was a fault in the natural order, a being who had leapt beyond mortal understanding and yet remained tethered to the flesh. They said his only path forward was transcendence or decay.
And I saw it, sometimes. The faint strain in his movements, the almost imperceptible tension in his long body when he paused too long in the light of Arcanum Vitae. He did not complain. He did not speak. But he suffered. Always, quietly, beneath the perfection that made him terrifying.
I knew enough to fear, and to serve, and to marvel. I did not know everything. No one did. And perhaps that was the point.
The Kutsche drifted silently, carrying us toward the mansion that waited in eternal night. The city below continued to stir. Houses plotted. Prime Seers patrolled. Awakened commoners were contained.
And he… observed.